


Rosemary, Rue, Feverfew

by within_a_dream



Category: Stanton & Barling - E.M. Powell
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: Barling is in a foul mood, and Stanton sets out to discover why
Relationships: Aelred Barling/Hugo Stanton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Rosemary, Rue, Feverfew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



> Thank you to telm_393 for betaing! Title is from various herbal cures for migraines and headaches

At first, Stanton assumed it was just Barling being Barling. Barling certainly couldn’t be described as pleasant. Intelligent, striking, passionate – there were many ways that Stanton could describe him now that they’d grown close but even with their current relationship Stanton couldn’t call him ‘pleasant’.

But Barling’s general disposition couldn’t explain the tightness around his eyes, or the way his hands clenched around his horse’s reins, or his lack of appetite at dinner that night. They’d been able to stay in an inn, eating alone instead of in the invariably insufferable company of the local lord, and Barling couldn’t even enjoy it.

"Is something wrong?" Stanton asked, quietly brushing Barling’s fingers, subtle enough to escape notice by all but the man sitting across from him.

Barling yanked his hand away. "I’m perfectly fine."

He clearly wasn’t, but Stanton knew him well enough to know he couldn’t be argued with. Stanton shrugged, and went back to his dinner.

Stanton had hoped to retire to bed after they ate, some respite with Barling after a long day and traveling, especially since they were alone together in their room. But Barling set out his parchment at the table, lit a candle, and began to write his notes, squinting down at his work. Barling’s brow furrowed in the most endearing way when he concentrated, although today his weariness took away from the joy Stanton felt at seeing it.

Stanton began to hum, watching Barling’s quill glide across the parchment – and come to an abrupt stop as Barling turned around and snapped, "Can you be quiet, for heaven’s sake!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, and the pieces began to come together. Barling had a headache. Likely a bad one, given his mood, and squinting at his writing in the dim candlelight couldn’t be helping.

"Come to bed," Stanton said. He gave Barling the sternest look he could manage when the man turned around. "You’re in pain, your work can wait until tomorrow."

"Need I remind you of my duty to the king – "

"Who won’t see your work until we return to London, and thus will never know that you finished in the morning instead of working through the night." Stanton sighed. "If you won’t agree to come to bed, I’ll be forced to annoy you until you retire." He took a deep, exaggerated breath, fully prepared to sing one of the bawdy songs he knew Barling loathed. But Barling acquiesced, setting his quill aside.

"It will hurt just as badly if I’m in bed," he said, voice strained. "I’ve tried all the cures, nothing helps but time."

"I’d wager I can help you." Stanton slid to the edge of the bed to make room for Barling. "Here, lie down." He guided Barling’s head to his lap, and then found himself frozen. His heart froze at the sight of Barling lying there, brow still furrowed in pain but trusting Stanton to help him. Stanton ran his fingers through Barling’s hair, watching his face soften slightly. Barling sighed softly, relaxing further into Stanton’s lap.

Stanton rested his thumbs on Barling’s temples, beginning to rub in small circles. Barling moaned, then tensed up, clearly embarrassed.

"It’s all right," Stanton said, leaning over to press a kiss to Barling’s forehead. "We’re alone, and you’ve made far more embarrassing noises."

"And it was undignified then as well," Barling murmured, but his face relaxed once again.

Stanton worked at Barling’s temples until his brow was smooth, only the ghosts of the worry lines remaining. He hummed a quiet song as he worked, something gentle that his mother had sung to him when he was young. For once, Barling didn’t protest at Stanton’s unpolished voice.

Stanton slid his fingers along the lines of Barling’s head, massaging the base of his skull. Barling moaned again, this time not stifling it.

"I told you I could help," Stanton said quietly.

"Pride is unbecoming," Barling replied, but the rebuke wasn’t entirely convincing given how he was pressing into Stanton’s touch.

"It never helps to rest?"

"It might help," Barling begrudgingly admitted, "but I can’t bear the boredom."

"Does the talking hurt?"

"No." Barling’s voice was barely audible.

"Well, there you have it. The next time the pain starts up, we can retire to your bedroom, and you’ll have a source of entertainment."

Barling froze again at that. Stanton softened his touch, returning to stroking his hair. He sat in silence for a while, trying to trace where the conversation had gone wrong.

"I would hate to be a burden," Barling said, voice tight.

"You could never be a burden." Stanton couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice. "I love you."

Perhaps that had been too much. Stanton paused, hands going still in Barling’s hair. Then Barling said, voice barely audible, "I would appreciate that."

Cold words, one might say, but coming from Barling they were worth more than dozens of poetic love confessions.

"The next time the pain comes, you’ll rest right away. Within reason," Stanton amended, not wanting to leave himself open for a rebuttal. Barling let out a little noise that might have been agreement, eyes drifting shut again, and Stanton returned to his caresses.

"I’ve tried everything," Barling said after a while, sounding half-asleep. "All manner of poultices and concoctions. They did nothing but make me smell of herbs."

"Now you have me." Stanton leaned against the wall, smiling to himself as Barling sank deeper into his lap.

"Much more tolerable than feverfew."

They sat like that for a long while, Stanton taking pride in reducing Barling to such a languid state. He looked rather feline, sprawled out across the bed with his eyes slitted and his jaw slack. Long after Stanton had thought him asleep, Barling said, "I love you."

Stanton thought he’d imagined it at first. When he didn’t respond, Barling spoke again, a little louder. "You said, earlier...I do return your feelings."

Stanton had to laugh at that. "I know that, you dunce."

Barling’s voice went stern. "Don’t let it go to your head. This doesn’t change my expectations of you."

"Of course not." Stanton leaned down to kiss him once again. "Although perhaps my gifted fingers will."

Barling didn’t deign to respond to that, instead nestling into Stanton’s embrace and letting his eyes fall fully shut. Stanton sat in silence for a long while after that, marveling at the man who had given him his heart, before drifting off as well, slumped against the wall with Barling still in his arms.


End file.
